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An accidental broadcast.

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The sound rapid, heavy footfall could be heard going across loose gravel and dirt. The crunch of rock mixed with the thud of soft ground under  foot. Two pairs of feet could be heard on the ground. One was a more distant one, while the other seemed to be right under the microphone.

 “I a-am coming for you!”

 A female Chernarussian’s voice yelled, her tone was one of malice.

 “You can only run so far y-you know!”

 “Go to hell, you bitch!” 

 An American male voice yelled in protest, before the crack of gunfire spouted off once. The shot was one of a low caliber, and it sounded to have  hit a tree only a few meters away from the speaker.

 The microphone transmitted a thunk, and then a scraping sound, followed by the low caliber shots punching into something rather dense and  strong.


 “N-not quick enough!” 

 The Chernarussian voice yelled as a torrent of rounds shrieked through the air, towards where the other shots were coming  from. The sound of  wood splitting could be faintly heard under the barrage, before it suddenly ceased with a click to top it off. A thud could be  heard hitting the  ground, and the familiar slam of a magazine and the pulling back of a slide.


 Slower, softer steps could be hear moving onward, the woman’s voice cutting over them on occasion, sounding exhausted. 

 “H-he should have never f-fired back…Maybe h-he could have outran me.

 Hah! N-n-no, no, n-no…He would be i-in the same position he i-is now, just down the hill…”


 Ruffling, rifling, and shuffling came over the microphone, followed by a single shot ringing out, and hitting something soft.

 “Many l-l-little trinkets with his food...And a little b-bear.

  Time to find who owns th-…”


  The transmission abruptly cut out.

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